


occursus

by kanzentai



Category: Seven Kingdoms: The Princess Problem (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 19:10:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5016862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kanzentai/pseuds/kanzentai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Hamin and Zarad find love in the deodorant aisle of a supermarket at 3 AM.</p><p>(Or, eggs.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	occursus

**Author's Note:**

> HAHAHA, DOES ANYONE EVEN SHIP THIS OR—
> 
> a huuuuge thank you to [banana](http://www.zelcher.tumblr.com) for inspiring this as well as for beta reading! uwu

The first time Hamin sees Zarad, he’s got three presentations the next day, an oncoming headache, and the only word his mind comes up with to describe Zarad, AKA the guy who picked up the last packet of instant noodles before Hamin could, is _douche_.

The second time Hamin sees Zarad, it’s because Blain’s pointing at him and nudging Hamin’s shoulder, saying, “Do you _see_ that?” and Hamin wants to ask him who _wouldn’t_ see that, because ‘that’ has got 3/4th of his chest on display, along with a horde of girls that grab on to every available inch of his body. Hamin chooses to silently chew a straw and fret over his Geography thesis instead, pretending to be listening as Blain rants about his relative’s subjects and classes and daily escapades.

The third time Hamin sees Zarad, he’s got nothing but a week of cancelled lectures and anime marathons and heaven-sent pizza waiting for him at home, and the only word his chilled out brain uses to describe the guy with five bars of Mars in his hands, who is actually pretty hot, now that Hamin’s vision isn’t blurry and he doesn’t have the burden of report deadlines weighing him down, is _omfg_ , even though that’s not exactly one word. He also inexplicably freaks out when Zarad picks up a packet of grass and tosses it into his shopping cart. Hamin didn’t know supermarkets sold packets of grass. _Grass_?

The fourth time Hamin sees Zarad, he doesn’t _just_ see him, but literally crashes into him, loses his balance, hits his head against a wall, and slides down and down and down. 

Hamin decides that the universe has set up an elaborate plan to ruin his entire life because Zarad _smiles_ at him and goes, “Hey, sorry about that. Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m cool.” He’s still sitting on the ground. He’s not cool. It’s 3 AM. “Are _you_ okay, man?”

Zarad laughs, it’s a sound Hamin wishes he wouldn’t like as much as he seems to, and holds out a hand for Hamin. “I’m great.” Of _course_. “I’ve seen you around. Do you live on campus?”

Hamin takes his hand, and watches as Zarad tightens his grip before pulling him up. He’s got long fingers and nails that are perfectly trimmed, a scratch on his thumb and something that looks like a mosquito bite on his wrist. Hamin shakes his head. “Nah, but closeby. You?”

“On campus. I’m still never on time for class though.”

Hamin laughs. “No one ever is.”

Zarad smiles in a way that makes Hamin’s heartbeat falter. Strange. “I’m Zarad, by the way.”

He almost blurts, _I know_. Minus 1000 Cool Points if he’d have actually done it. “Hamin.”

“Hamin,” Zarad repeats, grinning. “Man, you seriously need to cut back on the Cola.”

“What?” Hamin utters, then notices Zarad’s gaze on his shopping basket, an amused smile playing at his lips. “ _Oh_. Right. Dude, I can’t. When it comes to junk, I am beyond redemption.” He fakes a religious gesture which transitions into an inappropriate one, one that would have Emmett frowning at him for an hour, and Zarad laughs, deep and throaty. Hamin’s heart does a thing. _Again_. In the span of three minutes.

“I see you’re attached,” Zarad says, his tone similar to someone who’s probably also equally beyond redemption. Hamin sees the bottles of Coke in Zarad’s basket, and snorts as a sort of approving gesture. Only an idiot would pass up the WoW Wednesday offer of one Coke free with two. Like Clarmont — Hamin dies a little inside every time he’s made to hear those Diet & Nutrition podcasts.

He raises both his hands to thumbs-up Zarad. “Bro. Coca-Cola is like the best thing ever. There is literally nothing better than Coca-Cola on this _entire_ planet. Except cats. Yeah, cats are rad.”

“And llamas,” Zarad says, looking pleased as hell. “Well, I’ve got to run, my roommate’s going to call my older brother and tell him I kissed his best bro if I don’t get back in…” He checks his phone. “...Seven minutes.” 

That sounds like something Blain would do, Hamin thinks, chuckling softly. “You better hurry up then, wouldn’t want your brother getting any wrong ideas.”

Zarad winks, and it’s sudden yet smooth and the _last_ thing Hamin would have expected. “Well, the ideas might not be _entirely_ wrong, you know?” 

Hamin gapes at Zarad.

“You—” 

Zarad nods, and Hamin holds a finger up, _give me a moment_ , and after two seconds of absolute silence, guffaws right there, in the middle of the deodorant aisle, at 3:08 AM. “ _Really_? You’re— you’re n-not kidding!”

Zarad joins him, laughing mirthfully, a glint in his eyes that Hamin doesn’t miss. Zarad raises an eyebrow and runs a hand through his hair, pushing his cart towards the checkout counter. “Guess I’ll see you around?”

“Of course,” Hamin says, grinning. He picks up an Axe Deodorant for absolutely no reason because he’s already got enough deo to last him through the apocalypse, and so places it back where he’d taken it from. 

He looks at Zarad, and right then, Zarad glances over at him. They share a look that probably should’ve ended two seconds ago, but Hamin doesn’t entirely mind, not when Zarad’s eyes twinkle like that, like an unsaid promise, a hope for something more.

—————

“Do you have the eggs?”

Hamin stops whistling and hides the plastic bag in his hand behind him, instinctively, whipping his head in the direction of the voice. _Shit_. _SHIT_. _THE EGGS. THE EGGS!_

“Um, _eggs_?”

Cordelia stares at him pointedly, smiling slightly. “ _Eggs_.”

Hamin barks an awkward laugh, scratching his neck. The Coca-Cola and potato chips he’s holding behind him are a constant reminder of Zarad’s _‘_ not _entirely_ wrong, you know’ and the fact that Hamin was rushing to the last packet of eggs for Cordelia’s huge-ass cooking project when he’d collided with Zarad. “I know not what you speak of, Princess Cordelia, what do you mean by this funny term, ‘eggs’?”

“Right,” Cordelia says, shaking her head. “ _Right_.”

Cordelia looks like she wants to stab their little Mr. Fluff-Bear the Fluffy Bear with her embroidery needles. Like, _really_ long embroidery needles. It’s a look Hamin recognizes because he’s an annoyingly loud yet attentive cousin who’s been around Cordelia longer than she’s known to spell her own name. Except, Hamin tries to convince himself, she’s too well-mannered to do something like that.

“ _Riiight_.”

—————

Hamin groans, then looks up at Cordelia with the cutest puppy dog face he can make, accompanied with tiny dog whimpering noises. Cordelia purses her lips together, almost smiles, then frowns, and goes, “No.”

 _Damn it_.

“Alright, fine. I’ll call your stupid teacher. Is she _that_ bad?” Hamin can’t see how a baking instructor could be so scary that she’d make half her class cry on their first day. “She’s a _baking_ instructor.”

“Well, there’s a reason we call her MM,” Cordelia replies, her smile strained.

“Uh, what was it, the Mighty Monstrosity? Mother of Murder? Midday Massacre?”

“Depends.”

Hamin snorts. It can’t be _that_ bad, can it?

  


“THAT WAS SO BAD, THE LITERAL WORST, HOLY SHIT, I DON’T THINK I CAN GO OUTSIDE WITHOUT WORRYING IF I’LL MAKE IT BACK HOME SAFELY.”

Cordelia giggles, crossing her legs with a kind of grace Hamin hasn’t seen anyone else carry themselves with while wearing a Sergeant Keroro nightsuit, at 7 in the morning. “So, what did she say?”

“Oh.” Hamin’s brightens up. “You can submit your shit tomorrow.” He notices Cordelia’s expression and gasps in fake horror, covering his mouth with his hand. “Your _assignment_ , good _Lord_ , did I really say the _S_ word?”

She ignores his sarcasm, tucking loose strands of hair behind her ear. “Thank you. I expect the eggs at exactly four in the morning tomorrow. And this time, I’m sure you will be paying for them, right?” 

Cordelia’s tone leaves no room for Hamin to complain, or say anything else, in fact. So he simply thumbs-ups her and stuffs a handful of potato chips in his mouth, _like a savage_ , Cordelia’s disapproving voice echoes in his ears. He grins at her, and she almost grimaces at the slimy bits that land on her pajamas, but stops herself before she can.

Man, this is entertaining.

—————

The fifth time Hamin sees Zarad, he’s graced with a sly smile and a look that spells _mischief_ , but Hamin jogs up to him anyway, grinning. “Zarad, ‘sup.”

“So is this officially our secret nighttime rendezvous?” Zarad’s voice drips of honey and danger, and it’s embarrassing how much it affects him.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Hamin drawls. “In a supermarket, at 3 AM, on a Thursday night, pushing carts full of junk food, two young men stand, and right in the aisle of— EGGS.”

“Eggs?”

“Eggs.”

“How romantic,” Zarad hums, softly.

The book Penelope’s been crying over comes to his mind, and Hamin can’t help the sheer delight he’s feeling show on his face.

“Maybe _eggs_ will be our always. The fault in our eggs.”

And Zarad laughs, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He covers his mouth with the back of his hand, and Hamin catches his laughter too.

“ _Eggs_ ,” Zarad breathes, his voice light. His eyes are twinkling again, the same as yesterday, and Hamin finds himself enraptured, his laugh fading into a smile that holds more emotion than he can recognize.

Hamin tells Zarad about Cordelia and the Meanest Mercenary and the eggs, and Zarad watches him in a way that leaves Hamin feeling both at ease as well as perturbed. It’s something Hamin isn’t quite accustomed to, especially when most of the people he’s known are the kind who wouldn’t mind admitting that they’re the ones who’ve farted in the room.

But Zarad is...something.

They mess around with the plushies and the soccer balls until an employee who looks entirely done with the world walks past them, chanting something that sounds like an elaborate litany of curses. It’s quite unnerving, at that time of the night.

When they walk out of the store, an hour later, Hamin notices he’s got a missed call from Cordelia and eleven from Leala, and he pushes his phone back into his pocket. It’s too early to deal with that drunk idiot.

On second thought, not really. He tells Zarad to hold his groceries for a bit, and calls Leala up and asks her what’s up. Zarad silently stares at the hand movements Hamin makes while he explains to Leala that _no_ , _refrigerators are not made for cooling down laptops if they become too hot_ , _and please do not tell me you’re trying to microwave sugar again to see if it’ll turn into stardust_ , and Leala hangs up on Hamin after calling him ‘Mrs. Captain Donkey Tail’.

Zarad doesn’t say anything, but Hamin smiles, scratching the back of his neck. “The things you’ve gotta do for friends.”

“Friends,” Zarad repeats, raising an eyebrow. He’s got the same look that he had when they’d parted ways yesterday, and it’s a little unnerving how worked up he gets trying to figure out what it means. “Guess this is where our little tryst ends, hmm?”

“Hmm,” Hamin nods, taking the grocery bag from Zarad. He glances down, right where Zarad’s fingers gently curl around his as he lets the bag go, and Hamin pretends he’s looking at his watch, his heart beating faster. “Hope Cordy doesn’t kill me for being late.”

“Fingers crossed. I’d be lonely if you weren’t around.”

Yeah, Zarad is _something_.

“Me too.”

—————

“Do you have the eggs?”

Hamin stops whistling and hides the plastic bag in his hand behind him, instinctively, whipping his head in the direction of the voice.

“Man, déjà vu,” he mumbles. He holds out the shopping bag out to Cordelia, bowing solemnly. “Yes, Your Highness. Perfect quality A grade absolutely fresh eggs, all for you, delivered at the ripe ungodly hour of 4 AM.”

“Thank you,” Cordelia begins, and Hamin grins up at her, wanting to say something in line with getting rewards for his prudent services, preferably monetary in nature, but when she looks into the bag, her smile goes rigid, and Hamin narrows his eyes at her.

“Is something wrong?” Hamin’s pretty sure he grabbed the right bird’s eggs and didn’t make any rough movements that would crack them. “Wait, did you really need _Ostrich_ eggs? I thought cake was baked using—”

“Listen, Hamin,” Cordelia interrupts, and Hamin doesn’t want to admit it, but he’s maybe _kind_ of scared right now. Shit, what did he do. “See, I’ve put up with you all these years because not only are you my cousin, but you are also someone who makes me feel nice, sometimes, when you aren’t being mannerless and brusque, and I do not think this joke is as amusing as you probably think it is.”

Hamin simply stares at her. “Uh, joke? Cordy, did I do something wro—”

“I cannot _believe_ you,” Cordelia interrupts again.

She flips the bag. Hamin lunges forward, yelling, “EGGS, THE EGGS,” and expects hearing disgusting noises and feeling his hands covered in slimy yolk and white eggshell when he opens his eyes.

He doesn’t hear disgusting noises or see slimy yolk and white eggshell when he opens his eyes.

He—

“ _Zarad_ ,” he hisses, his eyes widening, entirely horrified for exactly two seconds. Then, he guffaws, clutching his sides as he writhes on the ground in unstoppable laughter; then yelps as Cordelia comes back into view with a broom in her hand and a thin smile on her lips.

—————

The sixth time Hamin sees Zarad, Zarad’s already laughing. This absolute bastard. Hamin likes him. He likes him _a lot_.

“Eggs?” Zarad asks.

“Eggs,” Hamin replies.

He cracks up again, and Zarad doesn’t seem to mind when Hamin leans on him, his body shaking with the way he’s wheezing from laughing too hard. Zarad’s breath tickles his hear, and Hamin shivers ever so slightly, but thinks, _hey_ , _this isn’t half-bad_.

—————

When they see each other in college, it turns out that the girls hanging off Zarad’s limbs like the idea of seeing Hamin and Zarad _together_ more than simply lingering around Zarad. Hamin had expected being cornered and asked what he wanted to do, stealing Zarad’s time and all, but the developments were surprisingly nice.

They also begin meeting a lot more often between lectures and seminars, and Hamin doesn’t know the reason _why_ they were having nightly supermarket escapades in the first place, being in the same college and all, but he doesn’t really care. It’s fun hanging out with Zarad whenever he can.

One day, after college hours, Hamin catches Zarad changing the desktop wallpaper of the library’s main computer from a mountain’s photo to a collage of Pepe memes. He gasps, then high fives Zarad, and downloads Shrek is Love, Shrek is Life on the computer and leaves it on auto-replay, then hides the keyboard and mouse under one of the bookshelves once he’s done.

  


The next day ends up being quite... _eventful_.

—————

They meet up to go out for drinks— Hamin, Zarad, Leala, Blain and Lisle.

It starts out fun, what with Blain complaining about Anaele not wanting to go out with him, since five years ago, and Leala pointing at every moving object in a ten feet radius and yelling, “Drink with me!”

Hamin doesn’t even worry about Leala because that girl could drink the amount of alcohol two high schools could hold, and no one ever listens to Blain anyway, so.

“Do you think,” Hamin asks Zarad and Lisle, “anyone has swallowed a toothpick and lived?”

Zarad stares at him, confused, like Hamin had just asked him what colour his underwear from two days ago was, in another language, and Lisle chokes on his Pepsi.

“What sort of question is that?”

“Well, see, it goes down through your oesophagus, right? So unless it’s horizontal while you swallow, it should go down smoothly, shouldn’t—”

“Hamin,” Lisle interrupts, waving his phone in front of Hamin and Zarad. The article that’s displayed on it reads: Death by Toothpick? Swallowed Toothpicks Can Lead to Big Trouble, Experts Warn. “Well.”

“Well,” Zarad repeats.

There’s a horrifying image below the subtitle, and Hamin swears, “You damn biology people.”

Right then, Penelope’s face flashes across the screen, and Zarad smiles. “It’s the little sister.”

Lisle turns the phone towards himself, and the way he melts into actual loving goo is equally adorable and disgusting. Hamin takes another swig of beer as Zarad laughs.

“So, what’s on your mind?” Zarad leans in closer, now that no one’s around to judge his actions, his body pressing against Hamin’s. “Except toothpicks, of course.”

Hamin blinks at Zarad, then grins. “I’m a pretty simple guy, you know. Like, I’m thinking of how good this beer is, of course.”

Zarad rolls his eyes, but nods, his fingers deftly sliding over his mug’s sides, collecting the cold water droplets. “Of course.”

“And…” Hamin trails off, turning to his side so he can look into Zarad’s eyes. “You, I guess?” 

That catches Zarad off guard, and it takes him two seconds to stop giving Hamin a look that translates to _uhhh_. Hamin chuckles. It’s weird, this thing between them. There _is_ a thing between them, okay, but what exactly it _is_ , well.

“Hear me out, Zarad,” Hamin drawls, resting his head on Zarad’s shoulder. He isn’t drunk. Not off alcohol, at least. Man, that thought makes him gag a little. “I’m an open book.”

“I...know?” Zarad murmurs, his voice low. “Is something wrong?”

“Nah. It’s just that, see, I want you to know this about me.” Hamin rubs his palms together, then scratches the back of his neck. “I know you find it hard to really trust people, if Blain’s stories about your families are all true, and I want you to know that I’m okay with you having doubts about me, but, you know, I really— I really don’t have much to hide here.”

Hamin doesn’t see the pain that flickers in Zarad’s eyes, for nothing but a moment, and Zarad’s glad he didn’t. Zarad slouches in his seat, and it’s the first time Hamin’s felt him do something that doesn’t exude confidence or morale. “I know you, Hamin. And I trust you, okay, it’s a little difficult for me to show it, but— wait.”

“Hmm?”

“Much to hide? So, you _do_ have stuff to hide?”

Zarad’s tone is somewhere mid-amused and mid-questioning, but Hamin perks up, and the mildly melancholic mood dissipates as quickly as it had formed. 

“Well, I’m not bragging or anything,” Hamin begins, grinning shamelessly. “But I’m the one who made up that email about Professor Falon getting married to Professor Woodly.”

Zarad chokes on his beer, and coughs while staring at Hamin in nothing but awe. “Dude...Hamin. The entire college got that mail.”

“I know right!”

“They put up wanted posters for the person who did that. Hamin, son, you’re a wanted criminal.”

Hamin cracks up, his laughter near-howling. “Will you tell them?”

“Well, I’ll get a thousand dollars if I do.”

“But _will_ you?”

Zarad squeezes his hand, and that’s when Hamin realizes that they’ve been holding hands.

“Probably when you’ve done something even more amazing.”

Hamin snorts, and squeezes Zarad’s hand back. “Right, Mr. I-Shall-Replace-Everything-In-The-Staff-Refrigerator-With-Mars-Bars-Every-Weekend.”

Zarad splutters, _how did you—_ , and Hamin laughs until the table shakes and his sides hurt and Zarad’s laughing along with him too.

  


When Lisle comes back with a wasted, pacified Blain in tow, Hamin and Zarad are flushed like they’ve caught the flu (“The idiots’ flu, it’s a _thang,_ ” Blain had added) and it doesn’t look like they really care.

—————

[23:06] Me to Zarad: hey sup

[23:09] Zarad to Me: hi. blain told me to tell you that you’re a big red pimple. with pus.

[23:09] Me to Zarad: thank i appreciate 10/10

[23:09] Zarad to Me: lol. he says he hates you.

[23:09] Me to Zarad: that tsundere aww <3

[23:10] Zarad to Me: true. he’s gone to exfoliate now.

[23:11] Me to Zarad: damn thats hardcore wow

[23:11] Me to Zarad: look its 11:11 make a wish

[23:11] Zarad to Me: it’s 23:11 though haha. okay i wish you were here with me right now. ;)

[23:11] Me to Zarad: oh man i didnt know u felt that way abt me oh no im sorry ive saved myself for someone already T~T

[23:11] Zarad to Me: doesn’t matter. i can share. ;) ;)

[23:11] Me to Zarad: loool nice try casanova

[23:11] Zarad to Me: okay okay, i wish we could go for a movie tomorrow.

[23:12] Me to Zarad: brooo yess text me the time ill be there ✧٩(•́⌄•́๑)و ✧

[23:12] Me to Zarad: is this going to be our first ~date~ ⁄(⁄ ⁄ˊૢ⁄ ⌑ ⁄ˋૢ⁄ ⁄)⁄

[23:12] Zarad to Me: you mean all those nights i spent with you in the supermarket weren’t dates? i’m hurt.

[23:12] Me to Zarad: oh shut up i know exactly how hurt u are

[23:13] Zarad to Me: haha. it’s a date. you know i really like you right?

[23:13] Me to Zarad: i may have an idea but im waiting for the flowers :’D

[23:13] Zarad to Me: noted. see you tomorrow. ;)

—————

On another day, they hear Professor Falon referring to them as The Rowdy Delinquent Duo, and overhear the janitors in the washroom bitching about them when they’re doing something sinful to the toilet paper rolls inside a stall. It’s wonderful.

Hamin cackles when one of the janitors calls them an especially offensive noun, and Zarad shuts him up by pressing his hand against Hamin’s mouth.

Hamin’s eyes widen and he whispers, “Zarad. You touched— the toilet—”

Zarad freezes, his eyes widening too. “Shit, _shit,_ I—”

“SHIT, YOU SAY.”

“HAMIN, MAN, LISTEN—”

“ _SHIT_.”

—————

The eleventh time Hamin sees Zarad, they’re both trying to be as normal as they can be, except there’s a bouquet of flowers in Zarad’s hands, and Hamin wants to say that the heat that he can feel creeping up his skin and the speeding up of his heartbeat is just his imagination, but he can’t really bring himself to.

“Eggs?” Zarad asks, winking.

“Eggs,” Hamin replies, winking right back.

They burst out laughing, and when Hamin extends his hand to Zarad, grinning, he takes it willingly, accompanied by the words, _my prince_ , and a seductive smirk that Hamin returns with something far more dangerous.

—————

Hamin eventually stops counting each time he sees Zarad, because he doesn’t like numbers, and it was really getting out of hand, now that they kind of meet everyday. 

“So,” Hamin says, stretching his arms above his head. Once he’s done, he pulls his shirt down, wiggling his eyebrows at Zarad.

“So,” Zarad repeats, his voice hoarse from staying out in the cold weather. He tries wiggling his eyebrows, but stops when he realizes how ridiculous he’d look. “So…?”

“Why did you even _have_ those many condoms with you?”

Zarad narrows his eyes at Hamin, trying to figure out which point of time Hamin was referring to exactly. Then, it clicks, and he bites back a laugh. “When Cordelia?”

“When Cordy,” Hamin confirms, chuckling. “She didn’t speak to me for a _week_. I’d have been worried, but she’s received worse from me. Haha, she expected eggs, not twenty six condoms.”

Zarad lets go and laughs, turning his head up to look at Hamin, upside down, and says, “I just picked up how many I could fit in both my hands. Thought it’d be amusing.”

“Are you kidding me? That was hilari—”

“Did you just say, ‘are you kidding me’?”

Hamin blinks at Zarad, while Zarad simply sits there, looking regal as always, but also royally amused.

“I—” Hamin stops when he understands, and thoroughly snorts. “ _Dude_.”

“Yes, yes, sorry. I’m ready now.”

Hamin looks down at Zarad and grips the shopping cart a little tighter. There’s something about the way Zarad looks up at him like this, a serene smile gracing his lips and trust in his eyes, and it makes Hamin’s heart ache in a way he can’t quite explain. So he simply bends down and kisses the bridge of his nose, and grins shamelessly when Zarad pulls him back in to kiss him for _real_.

“If I fall, I will take you to court,” Zarad proclaims, and braces himself for whatever Hamin had described as _the best feeling in the entire world, when you feel the wind hitting your face and your hair’s all over the place and there’s this fear that maybe, maybe you might fall, but you know what, who cares about that, it still feels awesome_. 

Hamin grins mischievously. “Yes, Prince. I promise you’ll feel amazing.”

“That’s what she said,” Zarad replies, and Hamin bursts into hysterical laughter.

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  RIP HAMIN, I LOVE YOU.
> 
> you can find me on [tumblr](http://www.aobaba.tumblr.com) and [twitter](https://twitter.com/sharrkans) being super duper lame yoo.


End file.
